


The Alternate

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Garak is Not A Good Guy Necessarily, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Julian Bashir, Cardassians think everyone is inherently bisexual bc I'm bi and i said so, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Married Couple, Morally Ambiguous Character, Pining, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Seducing your husband's alternate universe counterpart out of pettiness, Seduction, Supposedly Straight Julian Bashir, Transporter Accident, Transporter Malfunction, and also, not Mirror verse but definitely alternate universe, simultaneously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: Due to a transporter accident, Garak is switched with his counterpart from another universe. A universe where the wormhole doesn't exist, no one has ever heard the word "Dominion", and Garak was never exiled from Cardassia. Instead, he's a Legate. And happily married to one Mr. Julian Garak.Suffice to say, the Alternate Garak takes the transition about as well as he can. The supposedly straight as an arrow Dr. Julian Bashir...not so much.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 78
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

“I am simply saying, Garak, that while obviously from a modern sense Rochester’s actions are viewed as reprehensible, you can make the argument that during the time in Earth’s history he’s actually quite a revolutionary character—“

“Why my dear Doctor, if you are trying to tell me that there was ever a time when locking one’s wife in an attic was acceptable in Earth History, then I shudder to think of what was deemed as unacceptable at the time.”

“I’m talking about aside from Bertha Mason, Garak. In fact, some scholars have even argued that Rochester was actually instrumental in solidifying Jane Eyre as a proto-feminist novel—“

“I cannot possibly imagine how that could be. Obviously the best choice for a suitor was the young Mr. Rivers—”

“You cannot possibly be serious—!”

“Infirmary to Doctor Bashir.” Julian’s com badge chirped, “Dr. Arai is requesting your help in surgery."

Julian swore, breaking off mid thought and tapping his com badge to respond. “I’m on my way.” He said. “I’m so sorry Garak.” He said. “I completely forgot I’d promised to help with Lieutenant Clausen’s knee replacement surgery today.”

Garak just waved him off. “No worries, doctor, I know you have your responsibilities.”

“We’ll continue this later. Next week? Our usual time.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it next week, Doctor.”

Julian stopped mid-step, and fought off the sense of disappointment which came over him. Garak was, of course, allowed to have other arrangements, even if Julian had been desperate to hear his thoughts on Jane Eyre since he got the idea to recommend it over a week ago. “Oh?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be on the station at the time.”

“Oh?” Julian double takes again. While he supposed, of course, that Garak wasn’t actually barred from leaving the station, he did it so rarely that Julian had begun to wonder if there was a clause in his exile on the station that barred him from entering federation space without escort from an officer.

“A fashion convention on Andoria. A tailor must remain up to date, of course.”

“Of course,” Julian agreed, though he sincerely doubted that wherever Garak was going had anywhere to do with fashion—or even Andoria—at all. “I—when will you be back?”

“Oh, it’s hard to say,” Garak said, spinning his straw around his rokassa juice in slow, methodical circles. “You know how artistic types can be. Though I am certain it cannot last longer than, say, two weeks. I should be deeply surprised if I shouldn’t be able to make it back for are lunch meetings by then.”

“Ah,” Julian said, dumbly, trying to run all possible meanings of the conversation through his head at once. Even with genetic enhancements, however, he doubted he’d be able to. 

“Until then, my dear Doctor,” Garak said,his hand brushing against Julian’s shoulder as he stood. 

“Until then,” Julian mumbled in agreement, watching Garak leave, before he remembered he was late for surgery and had to run back to the infirmary. 

* * *

Two weeks was hardly any time at all, Julian had rationed. He had certainly gone longer without talking to Garak and he’d hardly even realized it at all. Maybe the only reason he felt it so strongly now was because Garak had brought it up; because Julian knew he couldn’t see him. You always want what you know you can’t have, and all that.So it was fine. 

And when Garak’s runabout was set to return, Julian only waited at the transporter pad because he had so much he wanted to say about the atrocious Cardassian epic Garak had left him to read. That was all.

Yet.

The man who came through the transport...wasn't Garak. Julian could tell that much. Well, he was _Garak,_ but he certainly wasn't his Garak. Their universe's Garak, that was. This was something else. 

This Garak wore the uniform of the Cardassian military, as well as his customary customer-service smile. "Captain Sisko," this Garak said, tilting his head in some kind of almost-deference. "Cardassia sends its regards."

"Mr. Garak," Sisko said, "Something tells me your Cardassia and mine are two very different places."

Garak caught Julian's eyes and stared. He didn't blink. "Something tells me you might be right about that, Captain." He'd said, diplomatic and slow.

* * *

It'd been a transporter accident, apparently. They had attempted to bring back their Garak from his trip to Andoria, and in the process, they had gotten this one. _Legate_ Garak. A Garak who'd never been exiled. A Garak who'd maybe never even been a spy. A Garak who'd never even heard the word "Dominion" before. They'd wondered, for a moment, if it had been the other universe—the mirror universe—but Julian could've told them it wasn't since the moment Garak stepped through the transporter. He was different from that Garak. Kinder, maybe? Not that any Garak was necessarily kind, but the mirror one had been different—unnecessarily cruel, maybe. This one—this one didn’t seem all the different, aside from the uniform, and maybe, just maybe, the way he looked at Julian.

Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it felt like the other Garak looked at him like he was looking straight through him, like some old earth superhero with X-ray vision.Like he knew everything about Julian inherently just from one look.

Anyway, it was all the better that Julian probably wouldn’t be seeing any more of him, baring any medical emergencies, of course. After all,if this Garak had never been exiled, then there was definitely no way he would know Julian. Perhaps Julian didn’t even exist back in his universe! Even if he did exist, perhaps his Julian had never even left earth. The possibilities were endless, after all. No, it was definitely for the best that Julian simply wait out this strange turn of events from the safety of the infirmary. This would pass in a week, he was certain. These sort of things always did. Perhaps, when it was all over, he’d invite Garak for drinks at Quarks and they’d have a laugh about it. Yes, he supposed that would be good. There was no need to interact with the alternate Garak at all, really. 

Even if he was curious. 

And god, he was curious. Truly, when else would he possibly get the chance to speak with an alternate Garak—or at least, an alternate Garak who was not their evil and sadistic mirror verse counterpart, thank you very much. Maybe he even knew a Julian in his world, and that was why he looked at him like that. It obviously wasn’t very likely—from what he heard, this Garak had hardly left Cardassia, aside from this recent diplomatic mission. Though, knowing Garak, that had a less than fifty percent chance at actually being true. 

Maybe he had known a Julian. Perhaps, in his universe, Julian was galaxy-renowned; a winner of the Carrington Award and the McCoy Grant for Hybrid Medicine. Or Maybe—maybe his Julian was some kind of dashing Federation spy, glamorous and deadly, who only took martinis shaken and not stirred. Maybe, just maybe, that Garak’s universe had no taboo against genetic mutations, and Julian’s advanced mind and body had him flying up the ranks in Starfleet, a younger Commander—or Captain—or _Admiral!_ —than any before him.

Of course, any of these possibilities were slim to none, but the mere chance, the sheer mystery of it all was killing him. 

Which brought him, of course, here. Nursing a beer at the opposite end of Quarks, trying to pluck up the courage to talk to him. The alternate.

He couldn’t actually bring himself to do it. It was ridiculous, honestly he had wandered into how many near death experiences during his time in starfleet? And yet the thought of speaking to an alternate version of his own friend paralyzed him. Had he not faced down the mirror verse Garak and come out—somewhat—unscathed?

Of course, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t actually seen much of the mirror Garak during his brief stint in that timeline. Of course, what he had seen of him was not anything Julian wanted repeated. Perhaps attempting to meet this Garak was a bad idea after all. Yes—he was certain of it. He’d go back to his quarters and put this entire business behind him, it was decided. He motioned to quark to pay his tab, downing the rest of his beer in one go.

Then, from behind him, a low voice: “You know, in my universes it is considered polite to introduce yourself to someone, not just stare at them from across a room.”

Julian almost choked on his drink. “Garak! Err—Legate, that is to say.”

“Oh, Just Garak will do.”

Julian blinked, and looked at him again. Close as they were, the differences were striking. He was taller than his Garak, perhaps, slightly thinner too. Broader around the shoulders, maybe. Or maybe it was just the way he held himself; tall and confident in a way he had never seen his own Garak. Yet—“You sound just like him when you say that.”

Julian wanted to curse himself the minute he said it. Sure, Julian, compare him immediately to the alternate version of himself he’s never met. That’ll go over well.

To his credit, though, Garak just leaned back, something close but not-quite a smile playing on his face. “The other Garak, you mean?” He said. “Are you two quite close?”

“I—“he faltered for a second, and looked away. There really was something in the way this Garak looked at him; it made his skin itch, his mouth turn dry. “I suppose you could say that.”

Garak smiled, small and knowing. 

“Are you—do you know a Julian Bashir in your universe?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Garak parroted, mirth in his eyes.

“Is he a doctor in your universe as well?”

He laughed. “Oh no. Not quite. I must say, it was quite a surprise to see you in a Starfleet uniform, Julian.”

_Julian._ It was somewhat ironic, Julian supposed, that his own first name could sound so strange and alien to him, but he was almost certain this had been the first time Garak— _any_ Garak— had referred to him without his title. It sounded almost foreign, this Garak’s Cardassian accent still clear even through the universal translator, hardening the J into something more like a C and an H. “Not a Doctor or in Starfleet? I can hardly imagine it.” He said. “What does your Julian do, then?”

“Oh, this and that, I suppose.” Garak hummed, taking a seat next to him at the bar. 

Julian forced himself to not be disappointed with the lackluster answer. The chances of him being some kind of superstar or galaxy renowned doctor in the other universe were too slim to be anything but a fantasy in the first place. It was unlikely enough that a version of him even existed, let alone that this Garak knew him personally.“How do you know your Julian, then? I can’t imagine a Cardassian Legate tends to meet many humans.”

“They don’t often, no,” he said, taking a drink from his kanar. “I met Julian quite soon after he came to Cardassia, actually.” 

He blinked. He hadn’t imagined that he’d be the one to travel to Cardassia, but perhaps in Garak’s universe there was a reason strong enough to warrant it. Perhaps there was an pandemic of some kind, and Julian was so moved he boarded the first transport to Cardassia without even completing his medical studies. It would make sense for Garak to say that he only did ‘this and that’ if he were only a non-accredited medical personnel, and not a true doctor. 

“As to the nature of our relationship, well, I imagine it’s quite similar to your and your Garak’s relationship.”

“You two discuss literature as well?”

Garak looked at him, blinked, and said. “Doctor, Julian is my _husband_.”

Julian spat out his drink.

* * *

“Wait, so you’re telling me that you and the other Garak are married.” Miles said, rubbing his temples. “You’re certain he said married, right, because I can take a look at your universal translator—“

“He literally said 'Julian is my husband’, Miles, there really isn’t a lot up for interpretation there.”

“Like I said, I can take a look at your translator—“

“He said it in Standard, Miles, I could hear the accent.”

Miles paused, stared off into the distance, and finished off his whiskey in one swift shot. “Well. Fuck me, then.”

“Fuck me, more like.” Julian groaned, turning his face into the couch in the O’Brien’s quarters. 

Miles poured himself some more whiskey and took a long drink from it. “y’know,” he said, as if it physically pained him to do so. “It kinda makes sense.”

“What?”

“You and him, I mean.”

“What?”

“Y’know,” he said, “You two have always been weird together.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Yes you do,” He argued. “You two are always together. If it’s not at lunch it’s at Quarks, if it’s not at Quark’s its some holoprogram of some novel you read together. “

“Well yes, Miles, we’re friends! I do all of those things with you.”

“Yeah, but you’re always arguing with him!”

“So?”

“Julian,” He said. “Didn’t we go over this when that Cardassian envoy came to the station? Arguing is Cardassian flirting. “ He ran a hand down his face. “You’ve practically been playing the Cardassian version of footsie with the bloke for the past three years, yeah, I’d say it’s not all that surprising that some alternate version of you is married to him.”

Julian felt himself turn bright red. “I— It’s not like that,” he protested. “they’re academic debates about literature, absolutely no flirting involved.”

“Mhm.”

“Besides, I don’t even like men.” He said finally, crossing his arms. 

Miles sighed. “Listen Julian, he’s from an alternate universe. Obviously some version of you married him, but it sure as hell isn’t this you, so I don’t see why it matters. His version of you isn’t you just like that mirror version of Garak isn’t him.”

“You’re right,” Julian sighed.“Anyway, it hardly matters. This’ll all be over soon enough and then he’ll back in his own universe, back to normal.”

“That’s assuming we can find a way to get him back home,” Miles grumbled. “Whatever happened to the transporter when it beamed him over is a real mess, let me tell you. I can hardly figure out what even happened to the damn thing, let alone figure out a way to reverse engineer the process.”

“You’re selling yourself too short,” Julian said, combatting the sick feeling he had in his stomach at the thought of the process being irreversible. “You’ve managed to get us out of every other engineering scrape so far! I’m certain you’ll get it fixed in no time.”

“We’ll see,” He sighed. “But if I’m going to figure it out I’m going to need a good night’s sleep, so _goodnight_ , Julian.”

He blinked twice and checked the time. “Is it really that late already?” He said, and then blinked again as if that would make the numbers change back to a reasonable hour. “I—huh. I guess I’ll get out of your hair, then. Goodnight, Miles.” 

“G’night.”

It would all be over before he knew it, he reminded himself as he left the O’Brien’s quarters and went back to his own. Worse came to worse, he’d simply set the record straight as soon as he saw the other Garak again. Which, hopefully, would turn out to be never. 

These strange occurrences never lasted long, he remained himself as he tucked himself into bed. Besides, it was Garak they were talking about. He’d probably be figuring a way out of the alternate universe since the moment he stepped off the transport pad. Hell, he might even be back as early as tomorrow. Knowing Garak. There was no need to act as though anything had changed at all. In fact, he’d probably have to schedule in extra reading time to be back on track with _The Trials of Glinn Vasilik_ in time for their meeting on Wednesday. Yes, he thought, drifting off, there really was no need to worry. 

* * *

_Tomorrow,_ Julian supposed, was far too short of a timeline to have actually expected any results. Almost a week later, and the other Garak was still here—or at least, so he’d heard. He hadn’t’t seen the man personally, but since there hadn’t been any memos and Ensign Page was still talking about ‘the mystery of it all’ during her latest appointment, he figured there hadn’t been any miraculous overnight developments.Even Garak couldn’t work miracles, he figured, after reassuring Ensign Page that no, she didn’t have breast cancer. It had been eradicated two centuries ago, but yes he’d done the tests anyway just to be certain. Yes, he knew the station needed a mental health support system, they’d been on the waiting list for a counsellor for a good three years now. No, he didn’t think her hypochondria was a bother. 

“Thank you so much, doctor,” she said, sighing in relief. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“No problem at all, Ensign.” He said. “If there’s anything you need looked at again, simply make an appointment with one of the nurses.”

“Of course,” she said. “Thank you, again.”

“Anytime,” he said, and turned back to his desk. If he was lucky, he might be able to work on his research all the way through lunch.

“Doctor Bashir?” Nurse Jabara called from the hallway. “Your eleven o’clock is here.”

No such luck, so it seemed. “Of course, show them in.” He said, and set aside his research for later. 

Footsteps sounded, and his patient took a seat.

“Alright,” he said, flipping through the chart next to him, “What seems to be the problem, Mr…Garak?” He blinked, as if that would make the name on the sheet change. It was him, too, when he turned to look at the patient. He was wearing his Garak’s clothes, but it was still the other Garak. There really was something in the way he held himself.

“I hear if one wants to get ahold of a Doctor, this is the best way to do it,” he said. “I can’t seem to get ahold of you otherwise.” 

“I’m very busy,” he said, “And you should only make an appointment if there’s a medical problem.”

“Oh, but there is a medical problem, Doctor.”

“Oh?” Julian eyed him warily. “And what’s that?” 

“Well, I was pondering in bed last night, unable to sleep—this station is kept terribly cold, you know—and I realized that, as I am from a different universe, there is truly no way of knowing if my immunizations are up to date.” He said. “Why, I could fall prey to some terribledisease, maybe even start an epidemic all over the station, completely none the wiser that it was entirely preventable all along.”

Julian blinked .“That’s very…rational of you.”

“But of course, my dear doctor. I should hardly imagine there’s a single Garak in the multiverse who isn’t truly a rational creature at heart.”

Julian coughed. “Right,” he said, pulling up the correct file on his PADD. “Anyway, we’ll begin with going through a list of standard Federation vaccinations, and you can just point out any that are unfamiliar to you.” 

“Of course.” He said, taking the PADD from him. “I also wanted to apologize for the other night, Doctor,” he said. “I’m not sure exactly what it was I said, but I do fear I offended you in some way. I do realize that it may have been something of a shock to you to find out that your counterpart is in fact far closer to me than you might have expected.”

“It’s fine,” Julian said, willing to any god who would listen that this conversation be over.“You’re fine. You’re right, it was a shock, that’s all.”

“You must forgive me, I had heard you two were close, and I’m afraid my sentimental old heart kept to conclusions.”

Julian had to smother a laugh at the thought of Garak, sentimental about anything other than Cardassia. 

Garak seemed to take Julians stifled smile as something other than incredulity, however. “I take it you two have yet to begin courting?”

“Er, no,” Julian said. “We’re friends,” he said, “just friends.” Then, to hammer in the point, “I’m not really interested in men romantically.”

“Oh,” Garak said, a strange inflection in his voice, a strange look on his face. “I see.” Then as though it never happened in the first place, he continued on, light as day. “Once again, you must forgive me, doctor, I let my imagination run away with me again.” He said. “I suppose my Julian must have been rubbing off on me. It would be just like him to imagine—never mind.”

“Did you find any vaccinations that were unfamiliar to you?”

“Hm?” He said. “Oh, no. They all seemed fairly standard.” He stood up. He did not look Julian’s way. “I suppose I shall leave. You be now, Doctor. You are, of course, a very busy man.”

“I—see.” Julian said. “Goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

Despite only telling the truth, Julian couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that he had somehow just failed a test. 

* * *

A _tailor._ To think, Garak arrived on this station to renegotiate trade agreements with the Federation; ready to wine and dine, elucidate on all of the benefits of a trade agreement between empires, and foil whatever scheme Dukat had been getting up to.

Instead, this. An alternate universe, one that apparently had nothing in it but trials and tribulations abound. The indignity of it all, to know that in some universe somewhere, a Garak, any Garak, had fallen so low. It would be one thing, of course, if it had been an assignment. He had posed as everything from gardeners to footmen to custodians in his past, and it had never bothered him. Everything in service to Cardassia was noble work, after all. Yet after all his time on this station,he still had yet to find any scrap of evidence which suggested his counterpart’s exile was anything other than the baldfaced, unbelievable truth. There were no secret convoys from Tain. There were no illicit dates marked in code on his calendar. His database seemed completely empty of any reports, sent or otherwise. Not only this, but apparently word of his former occupation had seemed to spread like wildfire across the station. It had become something of an open secret, a party trick. To think, the same Elim Garak who had been more shadow than man, the monster under every bed on Cardassia, anonymous and terrifying, now reduced to _Mr. Garak, you know, the former spy?_ What was the use of a spy who had lost his anonymity? Pathetic. Hardly worth the name of an agent of the Obsidian Order.And now here he was, stuck living in this Garak’s pitiful, meaningless existence, alone and cold on the former Terok Nor. 

And where was the other Elim, Garak thought, twisting his claws into his skin. Kissing _his_ Julian's sweet, ridgeless neck, hearing the sweet tenor of his cries? Garak couldn't blame him for taking advantage, he supposed, trapped as the poor creature was on this dismal station, with a Doctor who barely looked his way. The apparition of a Cardassia, untouched by this _Dominion_ , one which he had the glory and the honor to rule over some small part of, and his sweet, sweet, Jules...it must've seemed to his counterpart to be some beautiful dream. Likewise, this cold and bright monstrosity of a station, exile, this _Doctor_ Bashir—it was to Garak a nightmare, the likes of which he hadn't seen in many a year. 

He thought of his Julian again. He thought of his counterpart, the imposter, tasting the gold of the skin of his thighs, watching him beg, watching him keen. _Not interested in men_ , the other Bashir had tried to tell him. Ha! He'd watched his Julian fall apart with barely a whisper of his name. He'd sink to his knees so sweetly, so gracefully, staring up at him through a beautiful haze of—what was that curious human word his Julian had called it? Ah, yes, _subspace_. Not interested in men, indeed, this Bashir had said, when Garak knew what he looked like awash with desire, how Garak's Julian just looked at him when he entered the room, not at women, not at other men, just Elim, with such fire he might be burned.

How he ached for his Julian now. To curl into his alien warmth, to feel his skin, so soft and yielding. Even his voice, familiar and warm, talking about some old earth novel that Garak hated—what a balm that would be to him now. He didn't even want to argue, though Guls knew his Julian's arguments could make even the drivel of Dickens worth the reread. 

Garak shivered even despite his blankets. He thought in vain about the plans he had thought about during the slower moments of his trip to Bajor, about what he and Julian would do on his return. It would’ve been the first day of the month of Dalkor, the beginning of summer, and Elim planed on returning early, to spend the day with him before returning to his work. Perhaps he’d insist on a game of kotra, which his Julian would undoubtably lose. They’d play in the garden, where, in the sweet early-summer heat, Julian would be wearing but the lightest outfit of fine, thin linen,and he’d be at the point in the evening where the kanar and the heat would’ve made him languid and affectionate. Then, and only then, would he give Julian his little souvenirs. 

Though it was undoubtably a show of sentimentality most unbefitting of a man in Elim’s station, he had in fact spent some of his time in federation space procuring a few small gifts for his husband. Tea, for one; some kind of earth variety that Julian swore by. A small box of non-replicated earth strawberries. Most importantly of all, however: the replicator pattern for scones with clotted cream. 

It would be so charming, he imagined, to watch Julian light up at the sight of these gifts from his long lost home. To watch him go breathless with excitement and pleasure—and, later, see him show his gratitude in even more delectable ways. 

Now, however coming up on his fourth week in the life of the exiled Elim Garak, he wasn’t sure the gifts were quite as kind as he once imagined them to be. He’d spent less than a full month eating noting but replicated Federation food—it appeared that while the former Terok Nor had been a Cardassian station, they had also seen fit to completely wipe the memory banks of every replicator when the occupation left—and overpriced, mediocre kanar from the bar. Barely a few weeks into this Garak’s miserable, pitiful exile, and the cravings for homemade _teran’ja_ steaming and fresh from an oven had overcome him so strongly he had to blink and push the thought away. The mere thought of it, delicious and comforting and impossible, overcame him with a longing so hard it ached.

He wondered how much worse it must’ve been for the other Elim, here for years upon years. He wondered how much worse it must’ve been for Julian, who had lived on Cardassia for nigh on ten years now, told in no uncertain terms that he was never to return to Federation space. 

He remembered the early days of their courtship. It had not been quite so romantic as he liked to remember it as being. Julian had been young, then, angry and sullen at his exile; Garak had been an agent assigned to keep an eye on the suspicious Terran exile. It didn’t exactly make the most tender of romances.

There is a story he likes to tell far better, a story he told Julian long ago, about a military man named Elim Garak, who wandered into a flower shop in Kardasi’Or and fell in love instantly with the beautiful creature he found working there. The lies, after all, may be prettier than the truth, but they are also the truth—in a way. He had entered that shop, after all, and he had thought him the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The fact that this only made Garak more suspicious of him at the time was irrelevant. He’d romanced him. It had been a cover, of course, but it had also been a choice. There were other covers he could’ve chosen. He’d gone for the hopeless romantic turned by a pretty face. And when it was inevitably revealed that yes, Julian was nothing else than a harmless, naïve little thing that actually was outcasted for his genetic augmentation—and not, in fact, an augmented spy as the Order had feared—Elim didn’t quietly disappear into the night.He’d kept courting him, standoffish though Julian was at first, and he’d made the lie a reality. Julian, of course, none the wiser all throughout.

Garak had been so blind at the time, looking back. So focused on gathering intelligence, on showing Julian all the best Cardassia had to offer; so charmed by his Julian’s looks and argumentative nature, he had missed the extent of the pain Julian must have been going through. Still was, perhaps. Exile, Elim was learning, was a sort of slow pain, which, while it might dull, never fully went away. A fact the other Garak knew very well. 

He thought of the two of them together, of the other Garak comforting him, commiserating over their shared experience as exiles. The claws digging into his palms began to draw blood. He could see it now; the other Elim would murmur something about his long unrequited love for his own Julian, about how, _oh, if only just once he could have the real thing,_ and his sweet, sympathetic Jules would putty in the imposter’s palms. He always was too kind for his own good. Too much of a romantic. The other Elim would exploit that ruthlessly—any Elim would exploit that ruthlessly. How couldn’t they, when the prize was Julian Bashir?

There was only one thing to be done, truly. If the other Garak was going to seduce his Julian—and of course he was—then Elim would simply have to seduce this Julian right back. After all, turnabout was fair play. 

Honestly he was doing the other Garak a favor; practically gift wrapping Julian for when he returned. It was truly a wonder he hadn’t thought of it before. It was a win-win scenario, as Julian would say; Elim would have a decent pastime to while away the hours living on this dreadful station, he’d get to relive the glory days of him and his own Julian’s early relationship, and the other Garak would return from a warm, loving Julian, to his own loving Julian. A mutually beneficial arrangement, on all accounts. 


	2. Seduction: Part One

The seduction of Julian Bashir, while never easy—as of course, subtle and delicate arts were never _easy_ —certainly would become far less difficult, Garak was certain, when you had already done it before. And you already knew exactly what Julian liked and how he liked it. 

The only problem, of course, was this other Julian’s ridiculous hangups over gender. Federation nonsense, of course; on Garak’s Cardassia, the prevailing thought was that while one might have preferences, lovers were chosen on a case by case basis. If Garak’s Julian had any such petty qualms over such things, he must’ve left them behind far before Garak ever began his suit. 

He’d have to be delicate with this Julian, he supposed. Nothing but amiable. Julian needed to always believe he had the upper hand, that every stray, unexpected thought came from him and him alone. All the best seductions worked thusly; after all, it was impossible for a politician to suspect you had seduced them for their secrets if they believed that they’d been the one to seduce you. 

So he’d begin slowly. Perhaps he’d take advantage of the curiosity this Julian had already shown to be a universal trait amongst Julians. After all, his Julian could never resist a mystery. 

“Come on, Miles, it’s been a month! Surely you have something almost figured out by now.”

“For the last time, Julian, if I find out a way to get Garak back to his own universe, you’ll be the first I tell. But for now you just need to wait.”

Julian sighed. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s simply that it’s been so long already and—”

“You miss him, I know,” Miles said, not unkindly. Then, perhaps actually unkindly, “Honestly, I’ve practically been missing him, what with how often you talk my ear off during lunch these days.”

“Is it so much to ask for a little chat with lunch?”

“A chat? No. An hour long debate on whatever book you’ve been reading last? Yeah.” He said. “Listen Julian, I don’t know what to tell you. We’re doing the best we can, but this is complicated stuff. If it hadn’t been for that wormhole event you went through and whatever nonsense we’ve gathered from the Enterprise logs, it’d be a completely theoretical realm of physics.”

“And I know that,” He said. “I know that, really I do, it’s just—“ he broke off. “Every day he’s gone the more I feel like, well,” he looked away. “Well—like he’s not coming back.”

“Julian…” O’Brien said, sighing. “Listen, just keep your chin up, alright? These things take time.” He said. “I’ll get you your lizard back.”

“Maybe,” Julian said,“Maybe you could let me have a look at the data. Just to calm my nerves.”

“Julian,” Miles said. “You’re a doctor, not an astrophysicist. You’ll drive yourself mad just trying to make heads or tails of the damn thing.”

Julian had to swallow back a million things he couldn’t say, like _actually, I’m a human augment_ or _I learned Vulcan once on a whim when I was nineteen, in a long weekend. I’m certain I could pick up theoretical astrophysics and engineering in a little less than a month._ “You never know,” he said instead, though cautiously, “I’m a quick learner. And maybe it would help, y’know, with a fresh pair of eyes. A new perspective.”

“I doubt it’ll ever come to that, Julian,” he said. “Listen, just keep busy for a while, alright? Pick up a new holosuite program, or, hell, go and bother the other Garak about literature. I’m certain he’d love to talk to you about Jane Austen or Glinn Vasily or whatever you’ve got up next.”

Julian winced. “Ah…I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Why?” Miles said, before he realized. “Oh, because of the whole…married to the other you thing.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fair,” he said, obviously uncomfortable at the concept. “But it’s not like he’s actually interested in you, now is he? He likes the other you. It’s probably as weird for him as it is for you.”

“Oh,” Julian said. “I suppose I never thought about it like that.” 

“Hell, it’s probably weirder for him,” He said, “the guy’s stranded in some alternate universe and the only person he even sort of knows is avoiding him.”

“Oh, I never—“ Julian swallowed, guilt rushing inside of him. “I never thought—“

“And exiled, too.” Miles shook his head. “Listen, I may hate the guy, but if the situations were reversed, and I was stuck on Cardassia and Keiko didn’t know me…Well. I hardly envy the guy.”

“oh—I didn’t even think how—exile,” he stammered, feeling his face turn hot and shame spin like a ball in his stomach. He hadn’t thought about what it’d be like for the other Garak to just find himself alone and exiled, on a Bajoran station. His Garak handled it so well, generally, that unless it was thrown into his face, like the incident with the wire, he could almost forget, sometimes, how difficult it must be to keep living on a station that almost entirely hated him. He hadn’t thought at all about how it’d be affecting the other version of him. He’d been apart of a diplomatic convoy, at least that’s what he told Sisko, surely he hadn’t been expecting this.

“That’s your problem, Julian,” Miles said. “You never do.” He sighed. “Anyway, all I’m saying is that you should have lunch with the bloke, just once to try it out.” He said. “If you don’t like it, thank god you’re finally getting some taste. If you do, thank god you’ve stopped trying to talk to me about literature I’ve never read. But either way,” he pulled a face, “Well, There’s apparently some version of you out there who’d be happy you did so. I guess.”

“That’s…surprisingly thoughtful, Miles.”

“Shut up. No it’s not, and you never heard me say it, ya hear me?” He said, his face a shade of red which probably, medically, should not have been humanly possible. But then again, very few things about Miles O’Brien should’ve been possible, and Julian had learned to accept that long ago.

“Of course not.”

Garak hadn’t expected, upon entering the infirmary again, a number of excuses on his lips, for Julian to call out to him. Polite avoidances, yes, he’d expected that. His Julian had been like that, when Elim had first begun to press his suit. Skittish, anxious, drawing away every time Elim stepped closer. It hadn’t stopped him, no, of course not— Elim Garak was not the sort of man who gave up easily. But his Julian had played the innocent all the same. 

Yet here was this Julian, calling out to him. “Ah, Garak, hello,” he said, and the discomfort was still there, in the background of his voice, just enough to show that he wasn’t quite at ease. 

“Doctor,” he said, tipping his head ever so slightly. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

“Oh?”

Garak rested his eyes on the lovely lines of Julian’s neck ad shoulders. He thought, perhaps, of resting his hand upon them—his Julian had hardly had an idea as to the connotations of the gestures when they’d first met, and it did seem like such a pity to let the opportunity pass again without seizing it—but no. There was no need to scare him off so quickly, and from the way he crossed his arms, it seemed as though _any_ touch might scare him off.A pity, truly. While he wasn’t particularly tactile for his species’s standards,Cardassians were physically affectionate by nature.The sudden, month long exile had done nothing but draw this fact to the fore front of his mind. He had never realized how much one might miss a simple press of palm against palm, let alone his Julian’s warm, alien flesh, so yielding and soft. 

No, no. It would be better to wait. To let his gaze rest upon Julian instead, heavy and significant, would be far better. A gaze, after all, could be read in multiple ways.Noncommittal. Insignificant, according to some, but that was never really true. Elim once made a man give up all his secrets by using nothing but his eyes. Poor Dr. Parmak was never exactly the same after that, unfortunately. Though of course, with his Julian, things ran rather differently. 

His Julian had once told him that he could feel Garak looking at him from across the room. That, in certain situations, the sensation could arouse in him far greater feelings than just the thought of being watched. Was that conditioning, perhaps, or did every Julian share such scandalous, exhibitionist tendencies? Should he put the hypothesis to the test?

Ah, at least some of it must have been true; the more he stared—just long enough to barely be held back from being too much—the more Julian flushed, rosy and sweet, like a fruit waiting to be plucked off the vine. 

“Yes,” he said. “I was wondering whether or not you would be amenable to getting lunch? I heard that you and my counterpart often partook in the midday meal together and, well, I could use some agreeable company.”

“Oh—I see.”

“I hope you don’t view it as intruding, Doctor,” He said. “I should hate for you to believe I were trying to replace your …friend.” _Friend_. How juvenile a word it was for what his Julian meant to him, for what a Julian meant to a Garak. Of course, there was no real word for that, at least not in standard, but friend in particular was so incredibly lacking. Partner, at least, implied a sense of importance past a fleeting acquaintance and amiability. _Husband_ or _enjoined_ both indicated a sense of care-taking, of providing for, of being with. Still, it hardly touched on the implications of something precious. His Julian had once told him of an Orion term of endearment, which translated roughly to ‘the most valuable object in the dragon’s hoard’ . That, perhaps was the closest to what his Julian was to him—something precious and rare and coveted. _Friend_ was nowhere near.

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Julian said, “ah—that is—“

“So your lunches are free then?”

“I didn’t—“ He protested, then gave in. “I—alright. I suppose I could find the time.”

“Wonderful,” Garak said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at noon, then, Doctor.” Ah, he couldn’t resist; he reached out and grasped a single hand over Julian’s clothed shoulder. It had been far too long since he had needed to hold back in regards to Julian, it seemed, and while a hand over a shoulder clad in a hideous Starfleet jumpsuit was hardly Julian’s precious, warm human skin, it was still far more kinship than he’d seen in…well, it didn’t need mentioning. Luckily his gamble paid off just fine; Julian didn’t seem to notice the significance of touching a shoulder any more—if not far less, actually—than his Julian did when he first came to Cardassia. 

“I—uh—“ Julian stuttered. “Sure. Noon. See you then.”

Elim grinned like a cat who’d gotten cream. “It’s a date.” He said, a risky move—but he countered it by walking off as though nothing was amiss. In games like these, it was best to keep him guessing. Julian had to think that he was the one looking too much into things, not the other way around. After all, it wouldn’t do for him to guess the game before they’d even begun to play.


	3. Seduction: Part Two

Julian could do this. He could, really. He’d cured deadly diseases and saved dying patients. Just two days ago he had dealt with a pregnant Bolian and both of their violently protective wives, he could handle this. It was lunch with Garak, he’d done it a million times before. Sure, this was an alternate universe Garak who was married to an alternate version of him, but how much could that matter, really? He’d be fine.

…No, he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the same as any lunch he’d had with his Garak, and he knew it. What he didn’t know was how to act around this version of Garak. Or what to talk to him about. Or even what to wear to it, because of course this had to happen on his day off. He buried his head in his hands, sighed, and stared mournfully up at Kukalaka on his dresser. The bear looked back with understanding, though unhelpful eyes.

“We’re really in it now, huh, old pal.” Julian sighed.

Kukulaka looked back at him kindly. 

“I mean honestly, what am I even supposed to say to him? Sorry you’re stuck in our universe for possibly the rest of your life, tell me, have you ever read Dracula?”

Kukalaka said nothing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Julian said. “I miss our Garak.”

_Me too,_ Julian imagined Kukulaka would’ve said. _Me too._

“Well,” Julian said, pulling himself up off of his bed. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends.”

No more over thinking things. It’d be fine. It was lunch, it’d be over before he knew it.

* * *

“Doctor Bashir, how lovely it is to see you.” Garak said. 

“It’s good to see you too, Garak,” Julian said, sliding into the seat across from him. He could do this. He could. He could. “How’ve you been finding the station? I don’t think I ever asked before.” Neutral topic, score.

“Oh, you know.” He said, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “It has been fascinating to learn about the differences between our universes.”

“Oh?” He said. _Come on Julian. You can be sensitive. You’d probably want to talk about home if you were wildly transported into an alternate universe due to a transporter accident._ Well, assuming that it wasn’t the mirror universe. Talking about home would probably get him executed by a Cardassian guard for spouting revolutionary rhetoric, there. “How so?” _Besides, it’s not like you’re not curious. In a morbid sort of way._

“Ah,” he said. “I hardly want to bore you with that. Besides, I should hate to make you uncomfortable.” He said. “I would so like for us to be _friends_ , Doctor.”

There was something different in the way he said friends there, wasn’t there. _No Julian, you’re just overthinking things.You’re being supportive, remember? Supportive._ In fact, he probably just said it that way to make it clear that Julian wasn’t his husband. “Actually, I’d love to hear about it.” He said, willing it into not being a lie.

Garak blinked. “…Oh?”

“I had been overreacting earlier. I’d love to hear about it,” he said.

“I see.” He was silent for a moment. Had Julian truly come off that unfeeling? “Well, hearing about my counterpart’s rumored former career was something of a shock, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The tailoring, too, was also a surprise.”

“I suppose I can imagine.”

“But truly, Doctor, enough about myself,” he said, “I want to hear more about you and this universe of yours.”

“How so?”

“Well, is it true that you and my counterpart meet here for lunch every week and discuss literature together?” He said. “Me and my Julian do the same thing—discuss literature, that is. Tell me, have you ever read the pre-exile works of Iloja of Prim…”

Perhaps this lunch wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

“…And that, Garak, is why Glinn Vasilik deserved to be punished far more than his subordinate did.” Julian finished triumphantly. “Go on, tell me otherwise, I dare you.”

But when he looked up Garak as just staring at him in that strange piercing way of his, the way that made the back of Julian’s neck prickle.

Julian swallowed, and looked away. He’d done it again, hadn’t he? “I’m sorry, was I talking to much? I know I can be a bit…overwhelming, in conversation.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, I was just thinking…ah, never mind. It’s nothing you would care to hear about.”

“No, no, go ahead. Tell me.”

“Alright,” Garak stared at him from across the table, one eyebrow slightly raised, as if to say _you asked for it._ “I had been thinking: It’s so nice to hear his voice again.” He looked away.

_“_ You remind me very much of my Julian, like this. He often goes on long tangents as well.” He said. His eyes had that soft quality in them that Julian’s Garak had whenever he talked about Cardassia. “It’s one of the things I find most charming about him.”

He could feel his cheeks burning. Garak was right, it was far too intimate, but still— “You find that charming?”

“But of course! As I’m certain you know, the art of oratory is highly valued on Cardassia. A man who can speak so well for so long is a treasure to any self-respecting Cardassian citizen.” He said. “Even besides that, there is nothing more rewarding than listening to him talk about the things he is passionate about.”

Julian suddenly found the texture of the table to be incredibly fascinating. “I see,” he said. 

“Though I will say, unfortunately _like_ my husband, you completely misunderstood The Trials of Glinn Vasilik.” He sighed. “Really, it was quite the argument, but it did miss the entire moral of the novel.” 

“How on earth do you claim that I missed the moral of the novel, I—oh my god it’s three o’clock already?”

“Oh, so it is.”

“I cannot believe—we’ve been here for three hours!” 

“So we have.”

“I’m so sorry, I hadn’t even realized—”

“Doctor, please, don’t worry. There truly is nowhere else for me to be.” He said. “Though if I’m holding you back from a meeting, my apologies.”

“Well, don’t you have to open up the shop…?”

“Doctor.” The Alternate Garak said slowly, something cold flashing through his eyes. “I am hardly a tailor. Your Garak’s shop hasn’t been open for weeks.”

Julian flushed again. Of course it wasn’t. Who knew if this version of Garak even knew how to stitch a seam together, let alone create various garments. He was a legate, he’d probably never sewn a day in his life. “Of course, of course. I’m sorry.”

“No worries, Doctor.” He said. “I can hardly blame you. I can almost forget you’re not my Julian sometimes, too.”

“I—um—“ Julian stuttered.

The alternate Garak stood. “You’re right. It’s getting late. I’ll leave you be, Doctor.”

“Garak, wait!” He said, guilt eating at him. “Would you, um, like to meet up for lunch again tomorrow?”

“I would like that very much.” The alternate smiled.

Though there was no reason to, Julian fought back a shiver.

* * *

Well, when Elim had first set off to seduce the alternate version of his husband, he hadn’t expected it to be quite so _easy_. Truly, it was a sight, seeing Julian melt so quickly into the territory of eager to please. His own courtship with Julian had taken far longer, as he waited, ever so patiently, for his guard to slide down and for Julian to warm up to him. He supposed it must’ve helped that his counterpart had done most of the groundwork already; perhaps the other Garak wasn’t quite so useless as he had thought. Or perhaps, not exiled and alone, this Julian just trusted far too easily on principle. That was part of it, maybe. It didn’t totally account for the sudden shift, but perhaps this Julian was just as impossibly sweet as Julians tended to be, so incapable of turning his back on anyone who he thought needed help. Not that Elim was one of Julian’s charity cases, of course, but he could play the part if needed. If that was what it took. 

He could play the poor exile longing for his husband, content just to see his sweet husband’s likeness. It would be like breathing. Even if, day after day, it was becoming uncomfortably close to the truth. 

It had been a month since he last saw his husband. If the godforsaken transport mishap hadn’t occurred, he would’ve been back on Prime by now. Better yet, if he had never gone on this mission like Julian asked him to, he could’ve been with Julian this entire time. No cold stations, no Federation, just Julian and the heat of the most beautiful Cardassian summer to date. 

He sighed, staring at the gray walls of the other Garak’s quarters. There was no use pining over what wasn’t, he reminded himself. He would return back to his universe. This was simply a minor setback.There was no other option. He would see his Julian and his Cardassia again, or he would die trying.

Until then, there was this. Until then, there was here. Deep Space Nine. If there was anything he would’ve found pleasant about this thrice-damned station back in his own universe, it was lost to him forever now.The only thing even vaguely pleasant was the game of seducing this Julian, and even that would grow tiring in time. This wasn’t his Julian, after all. This Julian was brash and over-confident and cruel, all in one step. It was a game, setting this Julian off guard, but it wasn’t satisfying. He wasn’t his. His Julian would lay his head on Elim’s shoulders, soft and quiet. He would argue about Preloc or Iloja, but he would yield eventually. He would bare his throat or he would press kisses to Elim’s. He would be the exact opposite of this sanctimonious, pitying, _Federati_ pretender Julian, who Elim simultaneously wanted to berate within an inch of his life and have on his knees, supplicant and submissive and aware of who was truly in control in every situation. 

He took a breath, brushed his teeth, and oiled his hair. Soon. Soon, he would either be home or the other Julian would be putty in his palms. This other Julian was hardly enough, but he would be something, and if this whole affair wasn’t over by then he would exhaust every avenue to make it so. Every one. No matter what sort of mess it made of his counterpart’s sorry existence of a life, or what collateral damage ensued.

Until then, he had a doctor to pursue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing y'all a very merry christmas if you celebrate, and wishing you all a very beautiful week if you don't :)


	4. Interlude on Cardassia Prime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Alternate Universe, things go a bit differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if I was going to write a chapter from the perspective of Our Garak and Alt Julian, but I'm just too much of a slut for Cardassia fics to not include some lmao
> 
> So, finally, have the long-awaited and often asked for interlude on Cardassia Prime <3

_The Alternate Universe_

_Kardasi’Or, three weeks prior._

It was a beautiful day on Cardassia Prime. The best in a century, some might have said. Dewdrops clung to the flowers outside, and the air was hot and heavy in a way that Elim would've described as the makings of a perfect summer day. 

Julian had gotten used to the heat long ago. It'd been unbearable in the beginning; he'd been used to federation standard climate control his entire life. In contrast, Cardassian housing wasn’t generally built with such a thing in mind—aside from heating, that was. The general Cardassian consensus was that their houses were well insulated enough to keep cool on their own; Julian, nineteen, had not agreed. He hardly slept at all, his first summer on planet, but eventually, he'd adapted. There were a lot of things he had gotten used to, over the years.

Elim would be arriving on Terok Nor today. Or _Deep Space Nine,_ he supposed. It was hard to remember when everyone around still called it under the Cardassian name, but the distinction was probably important. Another sign of the Federation trying to overtake Cardassian space, as the newspapers had probably put it. Another place Julian could never visit.

He walked downstairs, and put the kettle on for red leaf tea. _What to do today, what to do today_... The garden could use some work, he supposed. There was a plant on Cardassia remarkably similar to the English rose, and he'd been trying—and, somehow, failing—to properly grow it for years. Elim claimed that he knew the trick to raising them, but apparently that didn't account Julian's complete and utter lack of a green thumb. It'd taken him almost a year to finally have a crop of _tokra_ root which actually bloomed, and Elim had once informed him that growing _tokra_ was a project often assigned to Cardassian primary school students because of how easy it was to cultivate. 

Well, no longer. This year would be the summer where he finally got his roses to grow. He was certain of it.

But first, he poured his tea, and took out his PADD. He had promised he would read the tome of Iloja of Prime's pre-exile works before Elim returned, and he still had about half left.

The best part about Cardassian writers, he thought, pulling up the file, was how prolific they were. He might actually be able to stretch out the volume to last the entirety of Elim's trip. So he settled down to read, and took a sip of his tea. It was a good morning for poetry, he figured. There was something in the air.

_“You have one new message.”_ The PADD proclaimed.

He clicked. 

_Sender: The Cardassian Bureau of Military Inquests._

He read.

_Dear Mr. Garak, we regret to inform you that your enjoined, Legate Garak, has become prey to a spacial anomaly…_

He wasn’t in the mood for poetry anymore.

* * *

The other Elim would arrive a week later. Julian supposed Central Command or the Obsidian Order or whomever must've gone through him already and found out he wasn't a threat—or, possibly, wasn’t useful to the Cardassian government—and thus sent him home to Julian while they worked on bringing back their Garak.

If they even were attempting to being Elim back. He wouldn't put it past Elim's political enemies to just quietly shuffle the paperwork so that none but the most precursory of rescue attempt were made. Quite the opposite, in fact. Julian would bet the house that when Glinn Dukat found out about this, he'd first throw a party and then make sure that Elim was lost forever.

It was funny, ten years with Elim and he had began to believe that nothing could ever get the best of him. That anything which defied him would simply… disappear, silently, before he'd even bother to tell Julian it existed. That he was just impenetrable. Untouchable. 

And yet now he was gone, due to a _transporter accident_. It felt so—banal. Like dying from slipping in the shower. Things like that didn't happen to Elim. Hell, things didn't happen to Elim. Elim happened to things. 

But now he was gone. And they were sending the other Elim home to him. 

Home, of course, was relative. This wasn't his Elim. It wasn't his home. This was some other Elim, god only knew how different, and the thought of seeing some other Elim who looked exactly like his but wasn’t made Julian’s skin crawl. He didn't want to see him. But what else was there to do? The other Elim would have nowhere else to go. Even after eleven years on Cardassia, Julian could never truly get used to the thought of just leaving people on their own to fend for themselves. Especially if that person looked like Elim. 

So the alternate would come home, and Julian would just have to deal with it. 

* * *

Apparently in this universe, Elim Garak had a beautiful country house not unlike Tain’s had been when Garak was a boy. A tall, stately house of Classical architecture, built of pure white stone, with a garden overlooking Kardasi’or proper. This was the first thing Garak noticed when he stepped off the hover car. The second thing was Julian Bashir standing outside the door, his expression unreadable.

Garak wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his doctor with such an expression on his face. Julian was normally such a delightfully open book with his expressions. This Julian—he stared at him not just as a stranger, but as an unknown element. Like something which could be dangerous, even if he didn’t seem like it. It was the same expression he had seen on the operative who had interrogated him. It had never been an expression he expected to see from Julian Bashir. 

“Mr. Garak,” the other Julian said. 

Elim took in Julian’s pale blue, Cardassian style tunic. The way he stood almost protectively in front of the doorway. And—most damningly—the glint of a betrothal band on his wrist. “Mr. Garak,” Elim said in return. 

Julian nodded, and stepped aside to let Garak pass through the door. 

Julian showed him to his room. It didn’t take the bare white walls and lack of extraneous decor for Garak to know it was a guest bedroom, even despite the other Garak's clothing hanging in the closet. This sort of house always had a separate wing for guests, far away from the main family quarters. These sort of houses were old, after all. They were built before house-wide computer systems, let alone sound-buffering privacy locks. By the looks of it, this one dated back to the Sareni era, or at least was a very convincing replica. He had known this was as far away from the master bedroom as physically possible since they first turned right down the hall instead of left. Besides. He hardly expected the other Julian would simply allow him sleep aside him in the master bedroom, no matter how thrilling and sordid the thought. 

He looked at his host. It was strange, the contradiction of his resemblance to Doctor Bashir and his lack of resemblance. Unlike his own Doctor Bashir, this new one moved with measured grace and wariness, his expression kept politely shuttered. If his face didn’t have the same boyish charm Garak’s did, he would have assumed that this Julian was years older than his own. 

“The bathroom is through there,” The other Julian said. “If you need anything, just ask me.”

“Of course,” Garak said, all smiles and reassurances, like the simple tailor he’d promised Central Command he was. “Thank you, doctor.”

The other Julian flinched as though he’d been burnt. Something cold and pained passed through his eyes. “Doctor?” He said. 

“Are you not one?”

Julian swallowed visibly. His mouth turned into a thin line, and his hands clenched and unclenched as though they couldn’t decide what positions to be in. “No,” he said. “No, I’m not.” He did not look Garak’s way. “Do you—Is your Julian a doctor?”

“Yes,” he said. 

“I see. I—I’ll see you later.” He said. “Dinner is at six.” He darted out the door. 

Garak stared at the place where he’d been as he left. He wondered, not for the first time, at the likelihood of this Julian being a spy. Not a Cardassian one, obviously. They didn’t know enough about him or his universe to possibly have created such a perfect recreation of a man they shouldn’t have hardly known existed. Even if Tain had put an operative under the knife and told the surgeon to create the most beautiful man ever seen, the choice of a human was bizarre. 

No, this must have been this universe’s true Julian Bashir. This did not mean, however, that he couldn’t be a spy. He didn’t seem like one, assuredly, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be. Nothing was for certain in this universe, and Garak had not gotten this far in life without a healthy Cardassian sense of vigilance. 

No, there would be no confiding in his counterpart’s husband. No matter how beautiful or tempting a prospect he was.No matter the cruel irony of the universe, to know that some Garak, somewhere, had all that Garak had ever wanted, even down to Dr. Bashir as a spouse—

It was no matter. He could not take the other Garak’s identity even if he wanted to, the operative who interrogated him had made that quite clear. So he would simply have to enjoy Cardassia while he could while working on his true task: finding a way back. 

He checked the room for listening devices—it certainly wouldn’t do for anyone to find out that he had a far larger skillset than any tailor really ought to have, after all— and got to work. 

Dinner was a quiet affair.Not the sort of quiet Julian had often had with his husband, where the silences were warm and amiable and safe. Where Julian knew what the rules were, and how things would play out. 

No, this quiet was strained and awkward. First-date quiet, he mused darkly. Blind date quiet. With stilted, inconsequentialconversation and all. The only solace was the food, really. Cardassia rarely used replicators, and actually home cooked food was a luxury he learned to enjoy very quickly—especially once he didn’t have to do the cooking. And roast _trik’ta,_ tonight’s meal, was their cook’s specialty. 

“What is your universe like?” Julian said. “What do you do there?”

“I’m a tailor.” 

“I see.” A tailor. He could almost laugh. He thought of his Elim, so proud, so proper, and so incapable of customer service unless absolutely necessary. Their universes must be completely different, he supposed. After all— “How do you know your Julian, then?” He forced himself to smile. “You said he was what, a nurse?”

“A doctor.” He said. “CMO of the station, in fact.”

He paused, his fork nearly at his mouth. “Your Julian works for the Cardassian Military?” He had never thought it possible. Cardassia itself was xenophobic enough as it was,to be a human attempting to join the military would be nothing less than asking too be whisked away by the obsidian order, never to be seen again. Hell, he’d never even wanted to join. They were hardly angels. Just because his husband was a part of the military didn’t mean he wanted to see the occupation with his own eyes. 

“Oh goodness, no.” Garak laughed. “My tailor shop is on the former Terok Nor.Deep Space Nine. Dr. Bashir is part of Starfleet.”

Starfleet.

_Starfleet._

_CMO for Starfleet._

The other Garak prattled on about something to do with the Federation and Cardassia being marvelous trading partners in his universe,but Julian didn’t pay it any attention. He set down his fork. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Instead, he looked the other Elim—the imposter Elim—in the eye, and smiled and smiled and smiled, like a good little host. It wouldn’t do to be impolite. 

And so began their arrangement. 

* * *

The next morning came dawning bright and golden over Cardassia, and Garak awoke with the more energy in him than he previously had thought possible. It was a good day to be on Cardassia Prime, and he allowed himself one blessed moment to remember that fact. But no. Even as he woke up warm for the first time in years, even as the sweet summer breeze drifted through the open window, he forced himself to remember that it would not last. This too, was a mirage.

He found the alternate Julian in the kitchen, pulling apart a pastry as he read something off of a PADD. He blinked when Garak entered, as if not expecting him, before his face put on that mask of social graces yet again. Still, the chink in the armor, though ploy it still might be, was interesting. Perhaps even exploitable. After all, who knew what sort of connections this alternate might have had. If Garak could get close enough, offer himself as a sympathetic ear, or—how did the Terrans call it? A shoulder to cry on? How terribly suggestive…

But thoughts like that were self indulgent and troublesome, and would likely only lead toa tragedy of his own making. “Good morning,” he said, instead, to his host. 

“Good morning.” The other Julian said, focused far too intently on his breakfast. No, whatever charms had induced him into marrying his Elim Garak—if, indeed, they were married, and it was not some sort of ruse—they could not make up for the simple fact that he wasn’t the Elim Garak he wanted him to be. 

Garak poured himself some red leaf tea, and took a seat across from Julian at the table. “What are your plans for today?”

“I’ll be doing some gardening later,” he said. “But there is no need to join me. You can do whatever you’d like.”

“In that case, I think I shall go down to the market today,” he said.“It has been a long time since I last managed to get back to Prime, and I should like to have a look at the fabrics. For inspiration, of course. A tailor’s work is never done!” It was not entirely a lie. He would go down to the market—After he first examined his counter’s study for clues on how to escape his predicament.

“Good idea,” Julian said absentmindedly. “There’s some money in the bureau over there, feel free to take some.” He waved his hand vaguely to his right. 

“How generous.”

There was tension around Julian’s shoulders as he shrugged. “It’s just pocket change.” He stared outside the window. 

His counterpart’s study wasgrand and old fashioned, like the kind a new-money military official might’ve made sure he had. Which was, of course, to say that it was tasteful, elegant, and full of more hiding places for secrets than any federation species might’ve thought possible to have in one room. Luckily, however, Garak had two distinct advantages over the average conniving political opponent or nosy house-staff: one, he was a former Obsidian Order agent, specially trained in the retrieval of secrets. Two, this study belonged to him. Oh, an alternate universe Garak, sure, but a Garak nonetheless. 

He reviewed his counterpart’s schedule, calendar, and appointment book. This was, after all, where most secrets could be found. After all, most secrets did not take the form of illicit love letters or bloody knives like the Terrans believed; they were found most often instead in a little note on a calendar, a name or a date or an event that was written in code or simply abbreviated. For example, a politician might write that he had a dinner at seven he couldn’t miss; only upon further investigation would one know that it was a dinner with his mistress. 

After all, there is a lot that could be found out about a person when you looked at their calendar. His Julian’s would likely have been for filled various surgeries, darts with O’Brien, romantic rendezvous with young women, and of course their weekly lunch date: thus showing him to be outgoing and well liked.

Garak’s own calendar was empty, aside from lunch with Julian. He didn’t think about what that meant about him.

Within his counterpart’s, however, he found several things of note. The start and return dates for his trip to Deep Space Nine, of course, but also several meetings with three different people before he left for his trip. Two politicians and a Gul. Enemies, perhaps. Also, perhaps, allies. He would need to know more before he could tell. The two were very easily confused. Unfortunately his counterpart, like Garak himself, didn’t keep a personal log as habit, nor had Garak managed to find anything resembling a written diary—not that he expected one. He would have to do some other investigation, then. More detailed. 

His counterpart’s desk also overlooked the window to the garden. He could see Julian there, working outside amongst the flowers.

As if mesmerized, he drew closer to the window. From this vantage point, he could see Julian, streaked with the red dirt of Cardassia, his hair dotted with the white petals of the alai trees. Cardassia suited him. The heat, the garden work, the easy, dreamy life of the spouse of a Legate. 

Garak’s claws twisted into his palms. For a moment, a traitorous, traitorous moment, he wanted so badly he could hardly breathe. This life. The glory of it, the confident ease. Everything laid out on a platter, golden and beautiful and unobtainable, like a desert mirage, and yet—and yet—! There was Julian, dressed in blue and white, planting flowers into the earth with the utmost of care. And Elim’s covetous, greedy heart, leapt into overdrive again. 

When he was a child, he had wanted too much, always. More rokassa juice after dinner. The prettiest flowers from the garden. A small, ornamental bowl made of glass, that his childish fist broke at the first caress. He had been punished, of course. He always had. 

It had taken him a very long time to break that habit of wanting. Even now, it still reared its ugly, traitorous head. Even now, he wanted so badly that he almost didn’t mind if he bled for it, almost didn’t mind that he would undoubtably live to regret it.

But then Julian lifted his eyes from the flowers, and caught Garak’s gaze, his eyes cold and unknowing. And Garak reminded himself that wanting always led to regret.

He pulled the curtains and left for the market.

It was late, when he returned. He had eaten at the market—he hardly wanted to experience yet another strained dinner with his host. It was hardly polite, of course, but he figured it would be best to avoid too much interaction with the other Julian. Neither of them wanted that. It would be far preferable to slip in and out unnoticed, and go about their business silently, separately, as if the other were barely even there. 

And so, for some days, that was what he did; slipping in and out unnoticed like a shadow from the house.

And yet, one day, when he passed by the sitting room on his way to his bedroom, he caught sight of Julian, reclining on a chaise. And more importantly, Julian caught sight of him. And he did not ignore him. 

“Oh,” the other Julian said. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

The other Julian looked at him, eyes cold and almost cruelly indifferent. He held a glass of kanar in his hand. “You know,” he said, “I have been meaning to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“How did it go for you? With your Julian, I mean.”

“I don’t know what you could mean.”

“Oh, don’t play coy.” He scoffed. “Even—even in your goddamn universe, these things always go the same way,” he said. “So, how'd it go for you." His voice was low and slow. His hair glinted in the low, warm light, and his shirt had slipped all the way over one shoulder, like it wasn't meant for him. Garak wondered, in a flash of bizarre and sudden jealousy, if it belonged to his husband. "Did you look at him in—in that way that you do, that both of you always do—and say that you have something _blue_ in the back that he should come see?" He chuckled darkly. He stared at the glass of kanar in his hand. 

Garak didn't dignify that with a response. 

"No? Or do you just not want to say. " He hummed. He swirled his kanar like Garak’s Julian might've red wine. It wasn't made for it, of course. It spun slowly, thickly, barely at all. "Did you know, the first time my Elim had me try kanar, I thought it tasted like cough syrup?" He said. "It''s funny, the things you get used to."

"Julian," Garak said to him, for lack of _doctor._ "You're drunk."

“Really? I had no idea." He deadpanned. Pointedly, he took a drink from his kanar. 

Garak eyed the bottles next to the glass. One was gone completely. Another was over two thirds empty. “That much kanar really isn’t fit for human consumption, Julian, I should think you’d know that.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it,” he said. “I’m not human. Not totally, anyway.” 

Well, that was certainly news to Garak. 

“But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” He laughed again, low and bitter. “You and your _doctor_ in Starfleet. No, why would you? It’s not like he was exiled from federation space before he could even set foot on Starfleet Academy’s campus. Maybe in your world he wasn’t even enhanced. Maybe your Julian is just that goddamn lucky.” He threw back the rest of his glass of kanar in one go, baring his lovely throat for a moment before pulling back with a grimace. He turned to get more.

“Julian, put the bottle down.”

“Last I checked, _Mr_. Garak, you’re not my husband.” He said. “I don’t particularly care what you have to say, and so— so I would appreciate if you didn’t try to tell me what to do.” He stuttered. Ever so slightly his words slurred. 

Was this how Garak’s Julian had felt during the incident with the wire? Garak winced. “Julian.”

The other Julian had balanced his head in his hand now, and stared at Garak with something strange in his eyes. “You look…you look just…just like him, you know,” he slurred. It appeared the kanar was finally catching up with him, apparently enhanced genetics or no. He shifted his body closer to him, sinuous and languid as he braced his hand on the chaise. “Elim.”

He took a step back. “Doctor—” 

“Shut _up_.” He said, pushing himself off of the chaise and onto his feet. “Shut up, shut up—“ He stumbled closer. 

Of all things for Julian to do, for any Julian, anywhere,to do, he had not expected for him to sling an arm across Garak’s shoulders and embrace him, pressing his face against Garak’s neck. He supposed that must have been the reason why he remained there, frozen in place, when all everything should have told him to extricate himself from his host’s grasp. 

“Elim,” Julian said, his breath hot against his ridges. “ _Elim_ ,” his voice was desperate and grasping, calling out his name like a temptation straight from the epics. He pressed the softest, warmest kisses to his ridges.

He wished again, suddenly, desperately, to have been this other Garak. To have been able to shush the Julian in his arms, kiss him soundly, and carry him up to bed. To ravish him like he had always dreamed of his Julian, to have him supplicant and warm and inviting—his, always and only his, no matter what his Julian liked to pretend to believe—

“Elim,” Julian begged. “Please, I miss you,” 

Barring that, he wished, at least, that he was cruel enough of a man to take advantage of this. However Garak was many things, but he was yet to become a rapist. He was not going to become one today. 

So, slowly, he pried Julian’s hands off of him, and pushed him gently away. “Julian,” he said, then, “I believe it’s time you go to bed. Alone.” 

The look that passed through Julian’s face then was one unlike any Garak had ever seen on Julian Bashir’s face, and firmly shut down any of his ideas of this Julian being a spy. The pain and the frustration and loss, like that of a wounded animal, was so prominent before it was imperfectly shuttered away—and no Julian Bashir, anywhere, was that good of an actor. 

Besides, it had been somewhat of a stretch anyway. The concept was so detailed and ridiculous to have been anything but the truth. Julian, in love with him? His husband? No one would come up with such a ridiculous lie. 

He turned away and retired quickly.

* * *

The next morning, Garak did not slip out of the house, as quiet as a whisper. Perhaps it was sentimental, and perhaps he would regret it. But instead, he went out to the garden, where the other Julian worked.

He did not look at the wary shock in the other Julian’s eyes. He paid no attention to the stiffness in the air following the…unpleasantries of the night before. He picked up a spade, and said: “What are you trying to grow?” He prefaced it with nothing: no mention of his time as a gardener on Romulus, no flowery speech on the great beauty of Cardassian gardens. 

He supposed it oughtn’t have been a surprise, then, when Julian turned to him with soft, guarded eyes, and said: “Roses.” He used the standard term, not the Kardassi. 

But Garak said nothing about that. He smiled, instead, and said that he had learned the trick to planting them long ago, and would Julian like for Garak to show him? Julian nodded, though guarded. Garak knelt in the grass beside him. The sun beat heavy and strong up above, and Elim Garak took six seeds from the palm of Julian’s warm, mammalian hand, and got to work.

For now, it was still a beautiful day on Cardassia Prime. Everything else could wait, if only for a moment. 

It was not the worst offer of friendship Elim Garak had ever attempted.


	5. Dinner Dates and Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on DS9, Julian has... a time. 
> 
> TW:  
> ignoring boundaries (not sexual, but Garak does bring up something that Julian doesn't want to talk about and explicitly doesn't listen to him), and though its never explicitly stated, Julian does have a panic attack at the end of this chapter.
> 
> Alt Garak is uh, not at his best in this chapter. But that's ok! Bc they're all gonna learn and grow uwu

“Julian!” Jadzia said, catching Julian off guard as he crossed the promenade. “Are you on for tongo Friday? If you miss another game, Quark’s going to give your seat away.”

  
“Sorry Jadzia, I can’t.” He said. “I promised Garak we’d reschedule our usual lunch then.”

“At six o’clock.” She said.

“Yes.”

“So, you’re having dinner.”

“Well, I suppose so, yes,” he said. “It only made sense, you know, what with the infirmary being so hectic lately, and he’s been busy working on some project, too.”

“What kind of project?”

“How should I know? It’s Garak, lord knows he never offers up any straight answers.”

“I see,” she hummed. “You know, you’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately. The alternate Garak, that is.”

They had to stop as Nog and Jake Sisko jumped in front of them in a dead sprint. They were attempting to flee the scene of some mischief, no doubt. If only Julian could run away from this conversation half as fast as they ran from trouble, he’d be in the clear. Unfortunately, he was no longer a meddlesome teenager, and running from his friend and coworker just to avoid the inevitable repeat of this damn conversation was out of the cards for him. “Not any more than I used to see our Garak,” he said. 

“Well sure,” she said. “But he’s not our Garak, is he?”

“He’s fine,” Julian said. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

“That’s not…strange for you?”

“Why would it be,” he said. “We’re both adults. Besides, we both know that the other is hardly the person we want to be sitting across the table from us. This is just…”

“The next best thing?”

“Exactly!”

“Julian…” She paused, and looked at him with an undefinable emotion across her face. 

“What?” He frowned.

“Nothing,” she said. “You’re right, you know what you’re doing.” She shook her head.

“What—What is that supposed to mean? Jadzia!”

“Nothing! Nothing,” she said. “It’s just—well, I just worry that, well, you’re going to burn out.”

“Burn out.”

“Julian, it happens every time you have a new fling with someone on the station.” She said, calling the turbolift. “You fall madly in love with someone, spend every passing moment with them, until eventually, you just get bored and give up.”

“What! I do not!” He spluttered. “Name one time that has happened!”

She looked at him. Really looked at him. 

“…okay, maybe so,” he said. “But still, name one other time—“

She coughed and tilted her head at a passing ensign. 

“Alright, well,” he said, flushing. “that’s not important. What is important is the it’s never happened with any of my friends.” He said. “And I’ve never been bored with _our_ Garak once in my life.” In fact, he made it nearly impossible to get bored, everyday a new adventure—or problem.

“I’m just saying, Julian, take care. You know you’re the only one he talks to on the station, and with the situation in engineering being what it is…I just don’t want either of you getting hurt.” The turbo lift arrived, and they stepped inside. “Computer, to Ops.”

“Habitat ring.” The turbo lift moved upwards with a _whoosh_. 

“Just be careful, alright? Think things through.” 

“Of course I will,” he said. “I always do.”

The turbo lift doors opened to Ops.Jadzia sighed. “I’ll see you later, Julian. At tongo next week?”

“I’ll see you then.”

She stepped out, and the turbo lift doors closed again.

* * *

“I don’t know what she could have possibly meant,” Julian huffed, looking through his meagre wardrobe of civilian clothing. “ _Burn out_. I don’t do that!”

Kukalaka, like the wise old sage he was, said nothing.

“I don’t! I’m not like that,” he said. “Honestly. Think things through?” He said. “I’m a doctor! If I were that thoughtless, half the station would be dead and I’d be sued for malpractice.”

His hands had tightened into fists, causing wrinkles to form in the shirt he was holding. Well, so much for the green. He’d go with the red after all, it seemed. After all, hadn’t Garak—his Garak—once said he looked good in red? Or had that been blue, he wasn’t sure.

Either way, he was going to go out tonight, and he was going to have a good time with his friend, and he wasn’t going to second-guess himself all night. Jadzia was being ridiculous. Everything was going to go great. 

So he threw on the red shirt, dabbed on some cologne, and went off to meet Garak.

* * *

Garak had suggested a restaurant other than Quark’s or the replimat for dinner tonight. Something quieter was better suited towards the evening meal, he had said. So Julian had figured the Celestial Café would be best; after all, throughout his time on the station he had found that Bajoran food was almost universally palatable, so he figured it would be a fairly uncontroversial choice.Garak had gave him a strange look, but Julian had promised it would be good. 

“Are you ready, then?”

“But of course, dear Doctor.”

The café was quiet when they walked in. Hushed. Julian would’ve guessed that this was because most people tended to find Café’s suitable for lunch and not dinner, but in actuality, the restaurant was packed almost full. “A table for two, please,” he said to the hostess.

“Of course,” the hostess said, a bit too wooden to count as good customer service. He wasn’t sure what had happened, every time he had come here before been perfectly pleasant…. Perhaps it was a new hire?

Still, she led them to a table, away from the other patrons, and handed them menus.She gave Julian a significant look that left him puzzled, and disappeared quickly after. Strange.

Slowly, the restaurant began to resume in hushed chatter again, and once again Garak eyed him curiously from across the table.

“Is something the matter?” Julian said. “You don’t secretly hate Bajoran food, do you?”

“No, no,” he said. “It is simply—well it is a rather bold choice, isn’t it?”

“Really? I hadn’t imagined so.”

Garak eyed him with something close to pity in his eyes. “To bring a Cardassian to a Bajoran café.”

“I—“ He stuttered. Oh god, he had, hadn’t he. He could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment. Defensiveness and mortification rushed through his chest so badly he felt almost nauseous . “I’m sorry, um—“He felt like he did the time he’d called Bajor a place for frontier medicine, gawky and awkward and cruel without meaning. God, what had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, of course. “We can eat somewhere else if you’d like.”

“No, no, the damage has been done,” Garak waved him off. “Better to just commit to it than be caught in the error.”

His heart sunk. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Besides, you hardly have to apologize to me,” he said. “And even if you did, well. My Julian used to be quite the same when we first met.” He said. “Well, almost.”

His words were hardly reassuring. He felt, suddenly, gawky and awkward and wrong, like the proverbial bull in a china shop, always forgetting the wrong thing at the wrong time. His hands fidgeted with the table cloth.

“Of course, Cardassia isn’t too accepting of multiple _faux pas_ , as they say. But when we first met, he was rather similar.” He said, “it was...almost refreshing.”

Julian hummed tonelessly. He wasn’t really listening. His stomach was still swimming in knots. He stared at his water glass. Jadzia wasn’t right about him, he told himself. He had made a mistake, yes, but he wasn’t as bad as all that. He wasn’t. Right? 

“Why, the first time we met, he greeted me with the Cardassian informal version of you—an honest mistake, he had assured me, later, but at the time it had seemed almost indecently forward.” Garak laughed. “He’d been learning Cardassian out of a rather improper Terran guidebook, apparently. Word of the wise, Doctor, You can never trust a federation view of Cardassia. Or at least, no federation textbook on the language. It’s far too complex to be simplified in one volume, and certain cannot be learned from a textbook alone.” 

Garak took Julian’s hand in his, and drew the Cardassian symbol for learning on it with his finger. Slowly, Julian began to relax. There wasn’t any use in worrying about it anymore. It was done. The other patrons had reluctantly re-begun their conversations. He might as well try and make the most of his dinner.

“Like most things on Cardassia,” Garak said, ending the symbol with an extra flourish just above Julian’s knuckles, “it requires a _personal_ touch to truly understand.”

He had gotten used to the way this Garak spoke. It wasn’t too different from how his did, he supposed, the way he leant into certain words though it had a different meaning. As if conversation was a puzzle he wasn’t quite supposed to find out an answer to. Besides, even if it did feel like flirting, it wasn’t, not really—and even if it was, it was pointless. He certainly wasn’t the Julian Garak wanted to be speaking to, he knew, just as this Garak wasn’t the one who he preferred either. Julian supposed he could excuse a bit of harmless flirtation for the fun of it. 

Besides, the way he talked reminded him of his Garak. And it was nice, the reminder. It made it easier to relax, made it easier to pretend like he hadn’t just messed up. He breathed. Everything was fine, he told himself. It was a lie, of course, but what did it matter? Everything was fine.

And then it wasn’t.

"You know, my Jules—“

Julian narrowly avoided choking on air. “He—your Julian—He lets you call him Jules?"

"But of course," Garak blinked. "Oh, don't tell me you also have such ridiculous hangups over your enhancements as well?”

Julian’s spoon slipped right out of his fingers. _Your enhancements._ The words seemed to echo around his head. The world had narrowed. The rest of the restaurant didn't exist. The rest of the world didn't exist. There was only the other Garak, smiling blandly and going on, and on, and _on_ about Julian's darkest, direst secret, as if it was the weather forecast— "I mean, honestly, after learning about your rank on the station, I had simply believed your Starfleet was beyond such nonsense of caring about such a thing as your genetics—“

Julian couldn't breathe. Or could he? He noticed, acutely, the sensation of his breath picking up speed, turning into hyperventilation, but he couldn't seem to get enough oxygen into his lungs. His chest hurt. “Please, don’t—don’t talk to me about that here. "

“Julian? Are you alright?”

“I can’t—“ His breath caught. “I just can’t.”

“Julian,” Garak said, “it is fine, it doesn’t matter.”

At any other time, these words would’ve been godsend. At any other time, Julian would’ve heard those words and felt so heard and so seen. But now, _now— “_ Don’t you get it?” He said. “It does matter.”

Garak gave a put upon sigh as if he’d had this argument a hundred times. “Julian,” he’d said. “This obsession with genetics is nothing other than ridiculous, federation nonsense. You are yourself. There are no others. There is no Khan Noonien Singh inside of you waiting to jump out. You are simply yourself.” He reached out a hand.

Julian drew away. “Stop it,” he said dimly. He wounded how pale he was. He wondered if he was shaking. He didn’t dare look at the other patrons of the café—for the first time today, he reveled in the fact that they were Bajoran, not human. That they wouldn’t know what Garak meant, or who Khan Noonien Singh was. _“Stop it.”_ He said. His chair squeak as he pushed it backwards. He couldn’t be here anymore. He couldn’t think anymore. He had to go. 

“Jules,”Garak said again, his tone insistent. “You’re being ridiculous, all is well—“

But Julian had already wrenched himself away and darted out the doors of the Celestial Café.


	6. Conflicts and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian has some words. Garak has some thoughts.
> 
> TW: the same from the last chapter apply here: Panic Attacks, Ignoring Boundaries (mainly referring to Garak calling Julian "Jules"), as well as Garak kinda explicitly romanticizing some stuff which can be seen as sexual harassment.  
> In his defense, Cardassian and Terran romantic customs are...very different.

It was fairly easy to avoid someone when you were CMO of a station. His job already kept him fairly busy, and arranging for extra shifts wasn’t difficult. For all intents and purposes, there was no reason for him to see the alternate Garak.

Though he should’ve known, avoiding Garak—any Garak—was a battle he was bound to lose. Oh, Julian was quite good at ducking out of sight whenever he saw Garak coming. But in order to do that, he had to actually see Garak coming. And even with Julian’s enhanced senses, Garak was a man very capable of going unnoticed. And apparently, very determined to see Julian.

All in all, it had only really been a matter of time, Julian supposed. He had made it perhaps three days, before the door to his office in the infirmary opened, and in stepped Garak. 

He didn’t look up from his research. He had been meaning to read this monograph on interspecies genetics for months. He wasn’t going to give up on it now. “That’s funny, I thought I had locked that door,” he said.

“Apparently not,” Garak replied.

It seemed that despite the multiple differences between their universes, Cardassian military override codes were not one of them. Nor was Garak’s lack in hesitation in using them. 

"Julian," he said, declining his head with the same sort of almost deference Julian had seen the first time he stepped off of the transporter pad. He remained far away, but his body was still in front of the door. Julian remembered a line, all of the sudden, from The Trials of Glinn Vasilik: _There are times when words become the same as war._ "I've come to apologize." Garak said. "I hadn't meant to upset you, the other day."

His voice was soft, deferent, but it didn't set Julian at ease. Julian fiddled with the hem of his sleeves, and he didn't look Garak's way. 

“If I had know it was so secret, I wouldn’t have dared say so much in such a public place,” he said. “I am Cardassian. If there is one thing I know, it is discretion.”

Julian said nothing.

"You must understand," he said. "In my universe, this is old news."

He started. “Old news?"

"But of course," he said. "How did you imagine my Julian got on Cardassia in the first place?"

He hadn’t, in fact, imagined it. He had very adamantly, in fact, tried not to wonder much about the other Julian and his life. Like whoever his mirrorverse counterpart was, he assumed that the other Julian was different enough from him for them to be completely different people. Before three days ago, he had hoped that he might’ve even been different enough to have never been enhanced at all. He hadn't thought— "I'm sorry, what—“ 

"It is hardly a problem on Cardassia." He said. "Though it did take some time for my dear Julian to realize what that meant beyond the fact that prime was his safe haven from exile."

“ _What_ —"

But Garak just continued. "I can help you learn the same thing, Julian." He had stepped closer at some point. Julian wasn't sure when, but he was barely a meter away now. He reached out a hand, letting a claw trail over Julian's right wrist. "We can start small. Like I did with mine, yes?" He said.“For example, I have always thought that Jules was a very appealing appellation."

Julian flinched away as if burnt. “Shut up,” he said. He felt like cold water had been thrown over him, and when he looked at the alternate Garak, he felt as though he saw him clearly for the first time. _I hadn’t meant to upset you_ , the other Garak had said. Not _I’m sorry for what I’ve done._ Just _I’m sorry you were upset._ His jaw felt tight. He counted to ten, and breathed. “You don’t—You don't get to decide that."

Garak sighed. "Jules, this again?"

“ _Don’t call me that,_ ” he said, ”You don't just get to decide what I'm alright with," he said. 

“Julian—“

“Just—stop it,” he said, stepping backwards, stepping away.

“You’re overreacting, Julian—”

“No, no.” He shook his head. Hysteria rose from the pit of his stomach, it was all too much, too much, and he couldn’t think.Why the hell had any version of him ever married him, why would he ever do this. “Christ, are you this way with your husband, too? Did you, just, what, ignore his—his trauma—because it didn’t suit your outlook?”

“Julian,” Garak hissed. His hands, Julian noted, were clenched into fists. He seemed so much taller than he had before, looming and imposing. “How dare—“ He broke off. He breathed. “I understand, you are upset. These— _federation_ _notions_ can be difficult to unlearn. You will understand in time.” He reached out a hand to grasp at Julian’s shoulder.

Julian stepped backwards. His palms were sweating, and he could feel his heart beating twice its normal rate. Still, he raised his chin and said, without stutter, “Garak. I want you to leave. Now.”

“Julian, don’t you think this is a bit much—“

“Let me be clear.” He said. “I do not want to see your face for weeks. When I do see you again, _if_ I do, we are never going to talk about this again. You will never hint at it again. And you will never, never call me—“ He sucked in a breath, “call me _Jules_ again, in your life, do you hear me? You will leave me alone, or so help me God, I will get Odo involved and make you leave me alone.”

Garak blinked, taken aback. His hand fell to his side. “Julian—“

Silently, Julian gathered his papers and pushed past him to leave. 

* * *

Elim Garak was not a man who was disagreed with often. Very few dared. Very few dared and lived. Suffice to say, he could count the amount of times he had been told off after infancy on one hand. 

Julian? His Julian? His sweet, darling Jules had never done anything of the sort since the moment they met. He would never. Oh, of course, they had the occasional disagreement—no couple was perfectly in tune, and certainly no Cardassian couple would be complete without a hefty amount of _argument_ —but Jules always brought up his points with tact and finesse, if they had a true disagreement. There was none of this—this—crass Federation bluntness, nor this childlike running and hiding, nor this melodramatic ultimatum.His Julian knew how to get Elim to see things his way, or to accept the outcome as it was. He did not get overworked over simple words, would never become pale—or shaking—or, or _frightened_ by _Elim_ —

He dug his claws into his palms. This universes was already a mass of horrors in every direction. Of course even in this aspect, it would endeavor to be the worse of their two universes. After all, even upset, his Jules would’ve never said something so distasteful as what this one did. 

_Christ, are you this way with your husband, too? Did you, just, what, ignore his trauma because it didn’t suit your outlook?_

Preposterous. Disgusting. Just because this Julian was as over-sensitive as a child, and could hardly see that Elim was helping him, didn’t mean that his Julian was the same. Oh, it had taken some time to work Julian past his the ridiculous Federation anti-augmentation nonsense, but it had been all for the best in the end. He’d understood, of course that Elim knew best. That he was helping him. He was his husband, not his torturer. He was never cruel simply to be cruel. He knew what a true refusal looked like, from his Julian. He did—

Or did he?

Julian had never refused him, not even in the earliest days of their courtship—he had played the coquette perfectly, in fact. He had glanced away with uncertain eyes to rival the sweetest ingenue of Prime’s old debutante balls; his polite smiles seemed designed to entice a Cardassian to madness from desire to see a more passionate version, and his penchant for wordplay was so smooth and dextrous at dancing around conversations—and, upon further coaxing through literary debate, nigh obscenely blunt and passionate—it was desirable beyond words. No, Julian must’ve known what he was doing. With how strange and dull human romance customs were—(where was the chase? The drama? The panache? Just stating it—how gauche. No, it was far better the Cardassian way, where love was a well choreographed negotiation, far more like a dance.)—there was no way he could’ve simply “played hard to get” so perfectly without being totally aware of what he was doing.

And when Elim started calling his Julian _Jules_ on the occasion, he had given token protest, of course, until one day he simply stopped. He got used to it. He stopped growing quiet and cold, and he had started leaning in. It was for the best. It was always for the best. Besides, Julian had never truly been upset. His Julian never got upset. At worst, perhaps he’d turn away and grow cold, but that was hardly upset. Hardly enough to justify this from his Julian’s counterpart. 

And that did this Julian know, truly? What could he ever know? Every moment spent on this station had Garak hating it more and more with every passing day. Ever since he had stepped off the transportation platform it had been one long, never-ending nightmare. It was surreal and cruel and infuriating, wrapped into one continuous horror show, one after another. He missed Cardassia. He missed Julian. He missed how easy things could be, back when everyone knew his name. When he had power. Money. Prestige. Back when things were as they should be. 

Nothing was right in this universe, not Julian, not himself, not even the state of the Cardassian union! (Imagine— _Skrain Dukat_ a _Gul!_ Elim would emigrate to the outer rim before he allowed that promotion to go through.) Everything was wrong. It was like a universe built on Federation propaganda: of course this Julian would self-centeredly project onto a universe that was nothing like it. That was the Federation way, wasn’t it? To file away all concepts of cultural nuance until there was only one homogenized, Federation version of that culture left? He knew nothing, this Julian. Nothing of Elim. Nothing of Cardassia. Nothing of his Julian. 

His Julian was nothing like this one, he was learning. His Julian did not grow silent and cold, did not cower away from words, did not react so viscerally to hearing Elim call him Jules—

…Except he had, hadn’t he.

The first time Elim had called him so. 

After Julian had explained, in hushed, secret, shameful tones what had brought him to Cardassia. When he had said _I’m a genetic augment,_ and Elim had almost wanted to laugh with how simple everything was in the end: just augmented? Not a spy? Not a threat? Just too good for Federation ideals of “fair play” and exiled out of the federations own foolishness? Just there for the taking, free to be Elim’s? When Julian had said, with his eyes shining in the Cardassian moonlight, _they killed Jules and left me behind._ When Garak had told him, _Julian. Jules. These distinctions mean nothing here,_ and then, just to taste out the diminutive more, just to drive the point home, _These things do not matter to me. All is well, Jules. You can create a new home here,_ the first thing which had passed through Julian’s expressive eyes hadn’t been loving relief. It had been something cold. Guarded. Hurt. And he had looked away, for a silent minute, before turning back with the smallest of smiles. The smallest of strained smiles.

With a cold feeling sinking into his gut, he wondered exactly how many emotions he had misread, back in the beginning.

He wondered how many he had misread, even now. 


End file.
